DC Book 2: The Price of Peace
by aubreysmom
Summary: Things seem to be going well for our Harvard grad and his lovely shrink... but what happens when a terrifying case draws Elizabeth in as well, and could alter their lives forever?
1. Snowed In

**The Price of Peace**

(A sequel to _All That Sparkles_)

By aubreysmom

Rating: K+ (PG), simply because it's a rather intense story

_**Disclaimer:** I feel I need to be very clear about where my information came from and what I have created for the purposes of this story._

_The background on the Ebola hemorrhagic fevers is straight from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta – their Website. Thanks to Richard Preston (The Hot Zone, Anchor Books, New York et al, 1994) and Robin Cook (Outbreak, G.P. Putnam's Sons 1987) for helping, too._

_At this point, as far as I know, no one has figured out yet exactly what species of animal it starts in, so there's no way to trace it from that source. As such, there has been little progress in finding much information about it, let alone develop a treatment. The "treatment" referred to in the story is my own creation, and even then, you'll notice I don't go into detail. I'm not a scientist – and this virus, while rare, is NASTY, if all the readings can do it justice. I have no knowledge of any research currently going on to develop an antigen for Ebola, although it would surprise me greatly if there weren't a legitimate lab SOMEWHERE working on it._

_Also, Conference 5 is totally my creation – I don't know of any such place in existence. The characters, with the exceptions of Elizabeth and David Dillingham, and Paul Griese, are the property of Paxson and Pebblehut Productions (and thank you for creating such wonderful characters to work with!)_

_**Acknowledgements:** My thanks to RRP, my wonderful beta-reader, for keeping me honest and inspired._

**Chapter 1: Snowed In**

" I am _so_ glad I don't have to work tonight." Myles Leland III looked out at the heavy snow blowing in the dark Sunday night. "Chasing down perps in a blizzard is _not_ fun."

Elizabeth Dillingham poured two cups of coffee, then walked over to join Myles at the window. "I'd have thought," she said as she handed a cup to him, "all the bad guys would hole up on nights like this."

"Not always," he replied, letting the curtain fall back and putting his arm around her. "Believe me, we've spent enough nights freezing our posteriors off, waiting to nail someone, for me to be overjoyed that tonight isn't one of them."

He dropped a quick kiss into her dark hair. "Thank you for making dinner. You're spoiling me, you know. There's about five take-out places that have gone out of business in the three months that we've been dating."

Elizabeth laughed. "_Take-out_? You can cook."

"Yes, but I don't usually have time to. When I get home at 8 or later, it's a lot easier to just bring something home or heat up something out of the freezer. And you've greatly improved the quality of the latter, believe me."

She set down her coffee cup on the windowsill and put both arms around his neck. "Oh, I don't mind keeping your freezer filled along with mine. It means I have room for more variety than I'm used to. Lasagna can look just as depressing in the freezer the tenth time around as it does in the fridge."

"Hey, you can bring your lasagna over here anytime you get too depressed. It's better than at _Antonio's_."

She pulled away and looked up at him in mock-outrage. "So _that's _why you keep seeing me," she teased. She took both cups, turned her back on him, and headed back to the kitchen. "You're not dating _me_, you're dating my lasagna!"

Myles was right behind her and, as soon as the cups were safely on the counter, he swung her around into a full embrace and a long kiss that left them both a little breathless. When they parted, he stroked her cheek.

"I'm dating you," he said softly, "because you were gracious enough to still _want_ to see me after that disastrous ending to our first date. I still can't figure that out, but I'm very glad it's so. Besides," he added with a grin, "you know me far too well to be let out of my sight for very long. I've worked very hard to cement my arrogant, cynical, hard-as-nails image in everyone else's eyes, and I can't have you messing that up, now can I?"

"Oh, of course not." She kissed him again, then sighed. "I'd love to stay, but if I wait much longer, even my 4-wheel-drive isn't going to be able to get through this mess."

His eyes mirrored his concern. "Are you sure? I'd certainly feel better if you weren't driving tonight. The guest room _does_ have a lock, you know."

Elizabeth smiled. "Myles, I'm not worried about anything like that. I trust you. I need to get home, though. I have some work to finish, and Grandfather's making an entrance at 9 a.m. sharp. And no snowstorm ever got in the way of David Dillingham, I can tell you that. If I'm not home, from just two miles away, I'll never hear the end of it."

Myles chuckled. "I can imagine that, having met him last weekend. Thank you for inviting me, by the way."

"Inviting you was a godsend for _me_. Usually I go hole up in the library for the duration, before Mom starts in on 'why are you still single' or Grandfather asks when I'm going to 'put that analytical mind to some real work.' To put it bluntly, I enjoy family gatherings about as much as you enjoy having to go ask Randy Pitts for something."

"Oh, my. Hey, wait—I thought your grandfather was really proud of you. You told me he came to your graduation from Princeton, risking all Harvard predecessors coming back to haunt him."

Elizabeth's green eyes darkened, and she pulled away from Myles, turning away again. "Oh, he was proud I graduated top of my class, but he was rather disappointed that I chose to go into private counseling instead of something like…I don't know. Profiling for the FBI, I guess. Something he'd consider sufficiently world-altering to be worthy of the Dillingham legacy. He can't understand that I'd much rather help one person than a whole nation." She turned around to face him. "25 years with the CDC, and he thinks he's God."

"I got that much." Myles reached for her hand, and she allowed him to pull her back into an embrace. His voice softened again. "Elizabeth, I know from personal experience that what you do _does_ alter the world, in ripples from every patient you help. I've only been in counseling once in my life, but it probably saved my career…"

"…which is your passion," she added.

He nodded. "…and made a tremendous difference in how I see myself and my job, and why I do what I do. And you're the only person I've ever told that to, so…"

She smiled up at him, and the light came back into her eyes. "Your secrets are safe with me. Always. Thanks for letting me vent, Myles. You're good for me, you know that?"

He held her tight. "Not half as good as you are for me. As for the venting—anytime. What's this visit from 'God' all about, anyway – did he say?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not a word. I know he had to come into D.C. for a conference of some sort, but he's always really quiet about what he's working on." She gave him one more lingering kiss, then sighed. "Now, I'd best say 'good night' and go brave the Arctic out there."

"I'll help you clean off the car." He got their coats.

It took a few minutes, but pushing the heavy snow kept them warm. Myles opened the door for Elizabeth. "You be careful."

She smiled again. "I will."

"Call me when you get home? Otherwise, I'm likely to mobilize the whole team."

"They'd need skis to get through," she quipped. Then she leaned out and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll call you as soon as I get in the door, love. I promise."

Myles watched her work the car out into the street, then, shivering, headed back into the house. An hour later, the phone rang.

"I'm home – you can sleep now."

"Good night, Elizabeth."

"Sweet dreams, Myles."


	2. Special Assignment

**Chapter 2: Special Assignment**

"Tara." Jack Hudson walked into the bullpen Monday morning at 8:00 am and handed her a file. He leaned over and lowered his voice. "Pull up everything you can on this, transfer it to a portable hard drive, then take the drive down to Tech and have them run it through a Level 8 scan. Then get back up here with it, pronto."

Tara's eyes widened. "Level 8?"

"You heard me. And keep it to yourself." The look in his eyes made a chill run down her spine. She opened the file, and the chill got worse.

Jack straightened and raised his voice to address the room. "Listen up. D, Myles, Sue, Bobby, and Tara – you have an hour to clear your desks. Get whatever you need, write whatever notes it will take for someone else in here to pick it up. Lucy, I need you to go down to Intel and pick up a package for me. They know you're coming, and you'll have to sign for it. It comes straight back here and into my hands in no more than 10 minutes. Then finish up anything outstanding you have as well. At exactly 9 am, I want the six of you waiting for me in Conference 5. Garrett will be joining us."

There was a moment of stunned silence. "C-5?" Bobby asked, and there was an edge in his voice that they all felt.

Jack didn't even bother to nod. "Let's move, people. I'm not kidding."

Things got busy in a hurry.

**s**

**s**

Conference Room 5 didn't get used very often. It had the usual setup of table, chairs, wipeboards, aud/vid equipment, and computer terminal that all the conference rooms had. There, the similarity ended.

C-5 was unique. Once designated for a case, it became its own little world. You couldn't get in without a key-card, a passcode (both supplied only by the Director of the FBI himself), and a retinal scan. There were no windows.

The room itself was set up to be soundproof, scan-proof, and any other –proof you could think of. The computer was equipped with the most sophisticated firewall system available (certainly not the type you could pick up at the nearest Circuit City™), and it wasn't connected to the network in the building. It wasn't connected to _anything_ but itself, but it had enough information stored in it to make up for that. Nobody knew who kept it up to date.

There was very little conversation as they waited for Jack, and Ted Garrett. Although only Dimitrius and Myles had ever been in here before, they all knew (Tara and Lucy had just filled Sue in) that C-5 was only used for two types of situations: something for which _major_ was a gross understatement, or something so sensitive that even the FBI in general couldn't know about it. Neither option brought anything but a cold chill and tense silence.

At exactly 9 a.m., Ted Garrett walked in, with Jack right behind him. Garrett turned to a keypad just inside the door and pressed a button. The door closed, and there was the sound of a hydraulic motor closing a second door that would completely soundproof the room.

It had the feel of being shut in a bank vault, and Tara twitched. She was just slightly claustrophobic, and the subject matter Jack had asked her to research was not helping. Fortunately, C-5 was about the same size as the Bullpen.

"All right, people." Garrett's bass voice boomed across the table. "I'm going to let Jack fill you in on the details, but I want to make one thing very clear to all of you. You have all taken oaths to not discuss active cases with anyone outside of work – that's nothing new. But, on this case, you will not discuss anything related to it _outside of this room_. Not even to each other – you have something to say, you come in here. As of right now, this is your office space for the duration. Is that clear?" Very solemn faces nodded all around the table. "Good. Jack, they're all yours." He handed Jack a manila envelope and sat down.

Jack took a breath, trying to slow his pulse, then gave up. He opened the envelope and said, "Pass these around. One key-card and one slip of paper apiece." He handed the envelope to Tara, who started it around the table. "The pass-code on the paper is to be memorized. The papers will be shredded and burned before we leave here this morning." He paused for a moment, trying to let the tension in the room do something besides get worse. Then he also sat down at the table.

Bobby couldn't stand it anymore. "What the bloody hell is going on, Jack? You've got us all scared to death here."

Jack nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry. This is all procedure, but I agree with Mr. Garrett, and the Director, that it's necessary. If anything at _all_ about this leaks, it's going to cause a panic whether there's reason for one or not." He let _that _sink in, and noticed that it helped a little—but only a little.

"Tara," he began, "why don't you fill everyone in on what you were doing earlier."

Heads turned. Tara swallowed, hard, and pulled up an image on the video screen. It was a microscopic image, obviously enlarged several thousand times, and it looked like a bunch of snakes wrestling.

"What you're all looking at is an electron micrograph of the Ebola hemorrhagic fever virus," she began. She passed out folders to everyone. "The specific details of the disease are in here. I'll just try to summarize it. According to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Ebola hemorrhagic fever, or Ebola HF is a severe, often-fatal disease in humans, and nonhuman primates like monkeys, gorillas, and chimpanzees, that has appeared sporadically since its initial recognition in 1976.

"The disease is caused by infection with Ebola virus, named after a river in Africa, where it was first recognized. There are four identified subtypes of Ebola virus. Three of the four have caused disease in humans: Ebola-Zaire, Ebola-Sudan, and Ebola-Ivory Coast. The fourth, Ebola-Reston, has caused disease in nonhuman primates, but not in humans. There has never been a reported case of Ebola HF in a human in the United States, although there was an outbreak of Ebola-Reston among the monkeys in a research facility in Virginia in 1989. It killed over 400 research animals in less than a week.

"Nobody knows the exact origins, locations, or natural habitat of Ebola, but based on what evidence they have, and the nature of some similar viruses, the general belief is that the virus is zoonotic — that means it's animal-borne, and is ordinarily maintained in an animal host. They just haven't been able to pinpoint it to a single species yet. It _is_ native to the African continent. That's where most of the cases of Ebola have occurred.

"Cases usually occur in sporadic outbreaks, usually within a hospital or other clinical setting. The infection is acute – there's no just being a carrier. The theory is that an index case, the first to show up, becomes infected by contact with an infected animal. Then it's spread through contact with blood or other secretions from the infected person—vomit, feces, urine, semen. The disease can also be spread, and this happens a lot in African health-care settings, through needles or syringes that are reused without being properly sterilized."

She sighed. "I know this doesn't sound like much of a summary. There's a whole lot more that's unknown about Ebola than what is."

"Except that it's a _nasty_-with-a-capital-N bug," Dimitrius commented.

"That's true," Tara replied, continuing to summarize. "It affects multiple systems in the body, including the immune system. As the name implies, one of the symptoms is massive hemorrhaging, both internally and externally. It hits abruptly—fever, headache, joint and muscle pain, sore throat, and general weakness, followed by diarrhea, vomiting and stomach pain. These are similar to malaria or typhoid symptoms, so it's often misdiagnosed until it's too late. A rash or red eyes are other symptoms that may occur—also nonspecific to Ebola. The fatality rate varies – but it's worse than Marburg virus, which has just a 23-25 mortality rate. Same family, different virus," she clarified in response to Sue's raised eyebrow. Sue nodded.

"Ebola, especially Ebola-Zaire, has up to a 90 fatality rate. There's no specific treatment for Ebola. Patients basically receive what's called supportive therapy, which means the medical staff try to keep fluids balanced, maintain oxygen levels and blood pressure, and treat for any secondary infections. Ebola seems to eat up the clotting agents in the blood, so massive transfusions are used as well. The scientists aren't even sure why those who survive it _do_ survive it. There has been some limited success using convalescent serum, from patients who've survived Ebola, but nothing really definitive."

"So, how do they stop this bug from wiping out whole nations?" Lucy asked. "If it's so virulent and transmissible, why hasn't it decimated half of Africa by now?"

"From what I've been reading, it's because the spread can be stopped by using full barrier nursing techniques – isolation of the infected patient, the use of protective clothing, such as gowns, masks, gloves, and goggles, minimal lab work, complete sterilization of all equipment, avoiding contact with the blood or secretions from the patient. Ebola doesn't live very long if it hasn't got a host."

Jack stood up again. "Thanks, Tara. Now, before someone inevitably asks what all this has to do with us…"

"That would be the next step," Myles added, leaning back in his chair.

"…that, as rare as Ebola is, there's still a threat that it can be used as a biological weapon in a terrorist attack. Get a vial of blood from a patient, or even tissue from a cadaver, and you've got the beginnings of your very own, terrifying, epidemic. The World Health Organization has a conference coming up Friday morning at the Regional Office here in D.C. that will address, among other things, some discussion of Bioterrorism Agents and Diseases. Intel has just learned that there's some chatter about an assassination attempt on one of the keynote speakers for that conference – a virologist who has been working on developing a treatment for Ebola."

"A cure?" Bobby asked.

"No," Jack replied, "not a cure. A treatment that does, however, from what little we've been able to find out, seem to weaken the virus' grip on a host. I don't think it's gotten past the animal-testing phase yet, but it apparently has enough promise to warrant presenting it at the conference."

"Now," Jack continued, "the reason this case brings us into C-5 is simply because just the _word _Ebola is enough to raise chills, so the fewer people who know about this case, the less likelihood of something leaking out and causing a panic. We don't even want enough going around to spark _speculation_." Heads nodded in understanding, all around the table.

He opened the package in front of him, and handed Tara a CD-ROM, which she put in the computer.

"So," drawled Bobby, "who's the egghead we're gonna be babysitting until this conference?"

"Good deduction," Jack replied. "Bring up the photo, Tara."

On the screen appeared an image of a man in his mid-to-late seventies—tall, silver-haired, with piercing eyes and a demeanor that suggested he was king of whatever domain he stepped into, and that he planned on living forever.

Myles' chair came up with a _thunk_. "Good lord!"

Jack turned to him. "Myles? You know this man?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I _know_ him, but I met him just last weekend."

Tara's head snapped up. "You don't mean…" 

Myles nodded. "Oh yes, I do." He pointed at the screen. "That's Dr. David Dillingham. Elizabeth's grandfather."


	3. The Way In

**Chapter 3: The Way In**

Ted Garrett didn't look happy. "Now let me see if I get this straight, Leland. Eighty-five percent of our _own_ people will never see the inside of this room, and you're suggesting we bring a _civilian _in here?"

Myles folded his hands in front of him on the table, his expression grave. "Ted, I'm telling you, we'll never get close enough to David Dillingham, in the time we have, to _talk_ to him, let alone trying to protect him. Between my brief encounter with him last weekend and everything Elizabeth has told me, I am _sure_ of that. I don't make the suggestion lightly. She is our best way in — on short notice, she's probably our _only_ way in."

Jack didn't look much happier. "You've met him. He wouldn't listen to you?"

Myles shook his head. "You have to understand. I wasn't there as an FBI agent – I was there as his granddaughter's 'beau,' I believe the term was. In an official capacity, I won't have any more pull than the rest of you. I'm not even positive that _Elizabeth_ can get through to him. I'm just saying she's got more of a chance than we do of getting in the door."

"What do we know about this woman?" Garrett asked. "Besides your social life."

Tara responded. "She's already on file here, sir. She's just finishing up a post-doctoral research project involving work-related stress among law-enforcement officers. Because the proposal for the project involved federal officers as well, she had to have a full background check. I can have somebody bring the file up."

"Do that. I want to see this for myself before I even consider anything."

Tara got on the inter-office phone — the only communication between C-5 and the outside world. The request was made, and five minutes later the folder was in Garrett's hands.

"In the meantime," Jack said, as Garrett settled in to read, "we need to go over what little Intel has for us and see if we can come up with some semblance of a game plan. Tara, pull up a map of the area surrounding the WHO regional office here, and a layout of the building, if it's available. The rest of you—" He dumped several colored folders on the table. "Start going over this and let's see what we can come up with."

An hour later, they hadn't made a lot of progress. There simply wasn't anything concrete enough to pinpoint who might be gunning for the scientist, or how they might go about it. There was plenty of information as to where they could do it, but little else.

Finally, Garrett closed the file folder in front of him and looked up. "All right," he said. "Leland, you said Dr. Elizabeth Dillingham is our best way in. You're that sure?"

He met Garret's glare directly and nodded. "Yes."

"Will she do it?"

"I can't speak for her directly, sir," Myles replied, "but I believe she will."

"Then go tell her to clear her schedule for the next couple of days, and get her in here. No phones—go in person. I'll get the Director to issue one more C-5 key-card. She's not to have the passcode, and she's not to be in here without one of you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," echoed around the room.

"Bring her down to my office and we'll get a retinal scan on file." He looked at his watch. "It's 10:30. Everybody take a break until we can get Dr. Dillingham, Jr., set up, and we'll reconvene here at 12:30. Someone will probably want to bring in lunch."

"I'll take care of that, sir," Lucy volunteered.

"Good. See you all in two hours."

**s**

**s**

"Dr. Dillingham is in with a patient right now, Agent Leland, but she'll be done in about five minutes. Is there something I can help you with?" Elizabeth's secretary looked rather surprised to have two FBI agents standing in the outer office.

"Thank you, we'll wait."

Five minutes later, a young woman stepped out of the inner office, made a follow-up appointment for the next week, and left. Myles and Jack didn't move until she was well down the hallway. They stood just as Elizabeth emerged.

"Shannon, be sure that Mrs. Clark's file is…" she trailed off as she saw the two men. "Myles, Jack—what are you doing here?" She ignored Shannon's mouthed _"Myles?"_

Jack spoke first. "Dr. Dillingham, may we have a word in private?"

"Of course." She motioned them into her office.

On his way past her, Myles made a motion toward Shannon with his eyes. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, then turned to her secretary. "Shannon, why don't you take a long lunch? We're not expecting anyone until 1 p.m., anyway. Oh, and please lock the outer office on your way out."

At Shannon's expression, she added, "It's all right, Shannon. I'll buzz you on your cell phone if I need you."

Elizabeth waited until Shannon had closed the outer office door before she turned and motioned the two men into chairs. Then she sat down at her desk. "Well, gentlemen, this is a surprise. Although, from your expressions, I somehow doubt it's a social call. What can I do for you?"

Myles glanced at Jack, caught his nod, then leaned forward in his chair. "Elizabeth, we need your help, and we can't discuss it here. In fact, we need you to clear out your schedule for the rest of today and the next…two?" He looked at Jack, who nodded. "…the next two days, and come with us right now."

Elizabeth just looked at him steadily for a moment. "Does this have anything to do with a package my grandfather handed me this morning? He told me to give it to you if I couldn't think of a more secure place for it."

The two agents exchanged another glance. This time it was Jack who spoke. "Most likely."

She nodded, then picked up the phone and dialed, her eyes never leaving Myles'. "Shannon, get back here within fifteen minutes. See if Drs. Allen and Sutherland can take the rest of my patients for today, and clear out the rest of the week, please. I won't be here when you get back, and I'll be out of touch indefinitely. I'll call to check in when I can." She watched the smile come into Myles' eyes, though the rest of his expression remained businesslike.

There was a pause as Shannon apparently said something. Elizabeth smiled broadly and looked up at the ceiling. "No, Shannon, you don't need to call my lawyer. I'm not in trouble. Just take care of it, okay? Thanks." She hung up, shaking her head and noticing the two men grinning.

"Shannon reads too many suspense novels," she explained as she grabbed her purse and her coat. "I'm all yours, gentlemen. Grandfather's package is in my safe-deposit box, on the way to your office. Lead on."

**s**

**s**

At 12:30, a rather subdued Elizabeth Dillingham joined the team in C-5. The last ninety minutes had been a dizzying barrage of retinal scan, searches, ID badges and complete non-answers. If she hadn't trusted Myles, and Jack Hudson, as she did, she might have reconsidered calling her lawyer. Tara or Myles had been at her side the whole time, but it was still rather frightening. _What on earth has Grandfather gotten himself and all of these people into?_

It only took fifteen minutes to bring her up to date on what they knew, and why she was there. The package, it turned out, contained a binder full of research notes, and a biohazard-packed container labeled "Ebola Serum Prototype A-1." Finally, Ted Garrett made it very clear to her what was expected of her in terms of confidentiality.

When he finished, Elizabeth shivered, just once, then looked at Garrett. "Myles – uh, Agent Leland – is correct, Mr. Garrett," she said. "My grandfather probably wouldn't even let you in the door. He is an expert at tuning out what he considers irrelevant. He feels he's…uh…I'm not sure how to explain it…"

Myles cut to the chase. "David Dillingham thinks himself invincible, and certainly wouldn't consider mere terrorists as a threat. You said it yourself, Elizabeth: 'twenty-five years with the CDC, and he thinks he's God.' The man's arrogance is palpable."

Bobby grinned. "Aw, we don't know _anyone_ like that, do we Myles?" A ripple of laughter went around the table as Myles glared at him. Even Garrett allowed himself a minute smile.

Elizabeth joined the laughter, then shook her head. "Bobby, let me try to put this in perspective. When it comes to 'pompous,' David Dillingham makes Myles Leland look like Sue Thomas." There was more laughter at that, and Sue raised her eyebrows at Myles, smiling. He returned the look with a wink.

Jack got everybody's attention back. "Guys, we're on a deadline here. The conference is Friday morning – three days and a few hours from now – and we don't even know where to start. Dr. Dillingham…"

"I can get you in to talk to him," she said. "After that…if you all don't have any luck, would you consider letting _me_ try?"

Jack looked at Ted Garrett. The big man scowled, then thought about it. "As much as I would prefer to keep you as peripherally involved as possible, from what you've just told us, I think you _should _be there while the conversation is going on. How long will it take you to set it up?"

Elizabeth looked up at the ceiling, an exasperated gesture. "Under ordinary circumstances, where I'd just come out and tell him, probably two weeks. As it is, five minutes." She turned to Jack. "May I offer a suggestion, Agent Hudson?"

"Go ahead."

"As I assume you're going to want at least one agent with my grandfather from now until the conference, I would suggest that Myles is probably a good choice for one of them. Grandfather likes him."

Myles looked up. "He does?"

She nodded with a smile. "Let's just say you made a favorable first impression. He's happy that I'm dating a Harvard man — I think I've atoned for going to Princeton." Her expression became serious. "Now, is there a place where I can call Grandfather and get you all in the door?"


	4. Bearding the Lion

**Chapter 4: Bearding the Lion**

"Dillingham residence."

"Porter, it's Elizabeth. I need to speak with Grandfather."

"I'm sorry, Miss Dillingham, but he's on his way to the lab. He's just leaving."

"Then go get him _now_, before he gets in the car. It's that important."

"Yes, Miss. One moment." The phone was set down, and she heard the secretary call to her grandfather. After a minute or so, David Dillingham's voice came on the line.

"Elizabeth? What's so important you couldn't call me at the lab in fifteen minutes?"

Elizabeth's voice tensed. "How about that package of yours—is that important enough?"

There was a pause. "What about it?"

She sounded like she was fighting to keep her emotions under control. "I can't talk about it over the phone. Can I meet you at the lab? Myles will be with me."

"Myles? What's _wrong_, Elizabeth? Why is the FBI involved?"

"Can I just meet you at the lab?"

"Of course. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I'll wait for you at the front desk."

"Good. We'll be there." She hung up and turned. Jack, Myles and Bobby were all staring at her. "What?"

Bobby shook his head, smiling. "I want you with me the next time I'm undercover. You're good."

Her smile was slight, and didn't reach her eyes. "After all I've heard in the last two hours, not much of that was acting, believe me. Well, we've got his attention – the ball's in your court now. He has a private lab at George Washington University."

Jack headed for the door. "Let's go."

**s**

**s**

David Dillingham's eyes grew cold. "You said _Myles_ was coming with you, Elizabeth—not half the Bureau."

"So I did," Elizabeth said quietly, meeting his glare evenly. "I suggest we talk someplace privately, Grandfather."

"Agreed. This way." He led them to the elevator. After descending three floors, they passed through several hermetically-sealed doorways, past a sign that said "Microbiology/Virology – Infectious Diseases," and into what was obviously his private lab. He motioned them all to lab stools, set down his briefcase and turned to face them. "Now, what's this all about?"

Jack Hudson took the lead. "Dr. Dillingham, we have reason to believe that there is an assassination attempt on your life being planned for sometime in the next few days. There's very little specific information at this point—"

"Which you wouldn't share even if there were," came the cold reply.

Jack ignored it. "—but there _is_ enough, shall we say, subliminal, information that we'd like to keep an eye on you until and during the WHO conference this Friday."

"This isn't only for your safety, Doctor," Bobby added. "It's also for the safety of the others who will be attending the conference."

"I see." The tone of his voice indicated anything _but_. "Well, gentlemen, you do what you feel you have to, but I suggest you stay out of my way in doing it. I have a great deal of work to get done before the conference."

"Uh, Doctor," Jack replied. "We'll try to do that, but we would like to keep at least one agent with you at all times. I realize you have work to do, so I'm not suggesting a safe house, but—"

Dr. Dillingham cut him off again with a wave of his hand. "I don't need a babysitter, Agent Hudson," he said dismissively. "I've been taking care of myself for longer than you've been alive. Do what you have to do to protect the conference, and I'll do the rest."

Elizabeth started to say something, her face betraying her anger, but a gentle hand on her arm stopped her. Myles had remained quiet this whole time, but now he stood. _Time to make another impression_, he thought. _He's not taking us seriously—yet_. He stepped up until he was only about a foot away from David Dillingham's glare.

"Including endangering your granddaughter?" His voice was even, but his eyes were like ice. "You gave her a copy of your research and a sample of your serum—a possible treatment to one of the world's deadliest viruses and a potential bio-terror weapon. Obviously, you were concerned about exactly what we're talking about, and were aware of the possible danger. But why drag Elizabeth into it? You could have just as easily sent or brought it to me at the Bureau."

Blue eyes narrowed. "I don't think I appreciate your tone, Agent Leland."

Myles didn't even blink. "I _know_ I don't appreciate your disregard for the lives of the people around you, Dr. Dillingham. So, like it or not, you _will_ have someone with you until the conference—and that someone will be _me_."

"Just because you're dating my granddaughter, Agent Leland, doesn't give you—"

Elizabeth was on her feet now as well. "Grandfather!"

Myles held his hand up to her, his eyes never wavering from the virologist's. "Doesn't give me _what_, Dr. Dillingham? The responsibility to protect innocent people from terrorists who'd like nothing better than to put a bullet in your heart or rain Ricin or who knows what on that whole conference, just because _you_ can't handle the fact that, in this case, you're out of your element? _This _is what the FBI is doing to protect the conference — protecting _you_ just happens to be part of that."

He took a half-step closer, his voice lowering to a near-whisper. "And let me tell you something else — I do care a great deal for Elizabeth, which gives me the right to protect _her_ from your stubbornness as well as everybody else. You think about that for a minute — I know she's planning to attend your conference on Friday. Do you want _her_ to be in the crossfire of God only knows what?"

They stared at each other for another long minute; then David Dillingham shook his head. "No, Myles, I don't. You've made your point." Myles nodded once and backed off. Dr. Dillingham turned to Jack. "Agent Hudson, what exactly do you have in mind?"

**s**

**s**

While Jack and Bobby spoke further with her grandfather, Elizabeth watched Myles quietly, not sure what to say to him. There was a lot she'd say later, when he wasn't "on duty," but right now…

"You okay?" he asked very softly.

She nodded. "Mm-hmm. How about you?"

He let his breath out in a laugh. "I'm fine. Don't know if I'm still on your grandfather's good side, though."

Elizabeth smiled. "If anything, you just moved up on it, I'd say. It pretty much takes nerves of steel to go head-to-head with him like you just did. Nice job."

"Thanks," he replied with a grin. Then he grew serious again. "Jack wasn't getting through to him — I see what you mean about him tuning out what he considers irrelevant. I just figured it was time to _make_ it relevant. And, regardless of what he may show, _you_ are immensely relevant to him." He didn't say it, but she read it in his eyes: _And to me, too_.

"Well, it worked," she said, touching his hand briefly. "You're in…now you just have to put up with him."

He didn't smile, and his gaze dropped. His voice held a trace of pleading. "But you don't. Elizabeth, I know you're involved in this now anyway, but I want…I _need_ you to keep your distance from him until Friday. The team can probably use your help in other ways." He looked up at her. "Please. I —"

She nodded. "Myles, I understand. You don't need a distraction. And at the conference – I'd like to help, but I promise I'll try not to be in your sight line. You'll have enough to worry about."

"Thank you." He looked over to where the discussion appeared to be heating up slightly. "What now?"

"…nonsense, I can use another research assistant right now, and —"

"Did you hear _anything_ that Myles just said?" Bobby was asking incredulously.

David Dillingham stood his ground. "—and it will do her a world of good to learn what she can actually _do_ with that degree."

Elizabeth groaned. "_I_ know what this is about. My turn." She stood and walked over to her grandfather. "Absolutely _not_."

He looked down at her. "What?"

She met his gaze firmly. "You know what. This little ploy of yours to put me in the middle of this because you think I'll decide to do something besides private counseling. You are _impossible_, Grandfather. But it's not going to work, even if the FBI thought it was a good idea, which they obviously don't. I am not qualified in any way, shape, or form to work with the stuff you're talking about, and I _damn_ well won't distract Myles from his job."

"Elizabeth!" The older man gasped. Even mild cursing was considered beneath the Dillingham dignity.

She didn't flinch. "Good. I got your attention. It's about time. I will see you at the conference on Friday, Grandfather. Not before. Now, I suggest you shut up and let these men do their jobs. Gentlemen," she added, turning to face the agents, "if you don't mind, I'll wait for you up at the front desk." She grabbed her coat and walked out.


	5. Unsettling Developments

**Chapter 5: Unsettling Developments**

The next two days were fairly uneventful, and immensely frustrating. There just wasn't enough information forthcoming to help them formulate a game plan. Elizabeth tried to help them, but there wasn't even enough to bring her expertise into it. All they knew was that the clock was counting down to…who knew what.

Now she sat at the table in C-5 with Tara, poring over a layout of the WHO conference hall, looking at sight lines and anything else they could think of. Sue had gone with Lucy to get lunch, and to check with Howie for any word on the street—unlikely, but worth a shot. Myles and Dimitrius were with her grandfather, and Jack and Bobby were over at the smaller, informal conversation area in the conference room, going over the information from Intel yet again.

Elizabeth sat back, rubbing her eyes. It didn't matter; she could still see the layout. She sighed heavily. "Do you all ever get used to this? The interminable waiting with nothing solid to go on?"

Tara stood up, stretching, then leaned against the table. "No, not really. This is the worst part of the job. _Knowing_ that something bad is going to happen — just having to wait for it to poke its head up, and praying we still have time to stop it." She grinned down at her friend. "Wishing you were still working on your research project about stress in law enforcement?"

"Are you kidding?" came the reply. "I'm glad it's done. My objectivity about the subject is _gone_ now. If it weren't for the classified part, this would make a terrific case study. And I could write it first-person."

Tara nodded. "It's a unique feeling, all right." She gave Elizabeth another soul-penetrating gaze. "But the waiting isn't all of it, is it?"

Another sigh. "No. I mean, there have been other times when he's on a case, and we haven't seen or been able to talk to each other. I think there was one space of a week. I understood that when I started dating him. But this time, when he calls in to give you reports, I can hear you talking to him, and I know I _can't_. That's the hard part—actually being part of this. Knowing that I can't distract him is one thing — actually doing it is another." She looked up at Tara. "I'm glad you're here, though, my friend. That helps a lot. Hey, I meant to ask you — how can Myles call in if this is so highly classified? Wouldn't you be worried about someone tapping in?"

Tara crossed her arms over her chest. "We have a direct link through the Director's Office, with the kind of scrambler/encrypter that they use for the President. We got special permission to use it."

"Wow."

"'Wow' is right. As for the other problem…" Tara's voice softened. "Would it help you to know that he asks how you're doing every time he calls? After all the official stuff, of course."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "He does? But I've heard your end of the conversations…"

Tara smiled. "Well, he usually asks if 'everything's' okay, but I know what he's really asking." She looked over at Bobby and Jack, and her smile immediately changed to concern. "Hey, what's going on? Bobby looks positively ill."

Elizabeth followed her gaze. The Australian was sitting at a small desk, his back to Jack, reading a black folder that hadn't been in the Intel stuff. His face was chalk-white. His breathing was shallow, and a little rapid, as if he were in shock. "I don't know. Shall we go find out?"

The two women walked over to the informal area, and Tara nudged Jack, who was going over the other Intel information. "Jack, what's Bobby reading?" she whispered.

He looked up. "That's a folder we found in with David Dillingham's research notes. I haven't read it yet." Then he got a good look at Bobby's face. "Now I think I don't want to."

Jack walked over to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

Bobby snapped the folder shut. "Uh…" He looked up at Jack, and the look in his eyes could only be described as sheer horror. "No…at the moment…okay …probably not the best word for me." He was trying very hard to keep his cool.

Tara reached for the folder. "What are you reading, anyway?"

He snatched it out of her reach. "No!" At her expression, he added, "Please…don't read it."

"Why? What is it?"

His eyes dropped to the folder, his hands actually shaking as he held it. "It's a case report from a clinic in Zaire – an Ebola victim. It's very…detailed."

Jack surveyed his friend again, then silently held out his hand for the folder. Bobby took a deep breath, and handed it to him. Jack flipped it open to the middle, read what seemed to be about two paragraphs, and swallowed hard. He looked at Tara and Elizabeth, his eyes something like what they saw in Bobby's, then he turned and put the folder in a file cabinet they had in the room. He then locked the drawer. "That's information no more of us need to know. We'll return it with your grandfather's other notes, Dr. Dillingham, but until then it _stays_ in that cabinet. Is that clear?"

They nodded. Tara asked, "It's that bad?"

Bobby cleared his throat. "Uh … let's put it this way — without going into detail…Ebola pretty much eats you alive from the inside out. Extensive cell damage — the virus literally stuffs them until they burst. It's not a pretty way to go."

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh. Um…you need a minute?"

"Please."

Tara nodded, and she and Jack went back over to the main table. Elizabeth started to follow, then turned back to him. The psychologist looked at him, her mind switching into her own field and evaluating what she saw. "Bobby, are you…?"

He held up a hand. "I'll be okay, doc. Just…some parts of this job take a little extra time to process, that's all."

"Uh-huh. Nice try."

He managed a wan smile, though it still didn't reach his eyes. Then he shook his head. "Later, okay? There'll be plenty of time later to…debrief. Thanks, though."

She nodded. "I understand. Just thought I'd offer."

**s**

**s**

It was Wednesday afternoon. Myles watched the micrograph screen, a sample of blood from one of the three research monkeys Dr. Dillingham had brought with him from his home lab. By now he could easily pick out the Ebola virus, and watched it interact with the monkey's blood cells.

Dimitrius had drawn "sitting duty" with Myles; four hours on, four hours off, the whole time that Dr. Dillingham i_wasn't/i_ in the lab. During those times, D was stationed just outside the sealed area, while Myles was in the lab with the virologist. The only other person they saw was Dr. Dillingham's assistant, Paul Greise.

"In the lab with" was a relative term, though. Since Ebola was classified as a Level 4 Bio-agent, ordinary lab procedures weren't enough. Inside the main lab was a smaller enclosure, with double-glass windows looking out into the main lab. To enter the smaller room, one passed through three separate "airlocks" – in the first one, you changed from street clothes into scrubs, then stood under an ultraviolet light (under which viruses fall apart) for a minute or so. The second "airlock" provided rubber gloves, to which you _taped_ your scrubs, and your scrub pants to your socks. Then you stepped into a "space suit" – a pressurized, heavy-duty plastic suit, complete with heavy rubber gloves, that meets government specs for work with airborne hot agents. It had its own air hose, which could be plugged in at various places in the lab. The third airlock was lined with nozzles – this was the decontamination shower. From there, you stepped into the lab.

Myles was on the outside of the enclosure, but he could still watch the two scientists, and see most of the equipment they used. The research monkeys were off to one side, in their own glass cages with independent air lines. On the sides of the cages were portals for taking samples. From what he'd been told, one monkey was healthy, and two had been infected just four days ago with Ebola-Zaire. Of those two, only one was receiving Dr. Dillingham's serum.

Right now, he tried not to look at them — one was clearly ill, but didn't seem to be on the brink of death. The other had "crashed and bled out" earlier today, would likely be dead inside of an hour. He couldn't look at that cage without feeling sick; there was a full two inches of blood and discharge in the bottom of the glass box, from which the two men were now taking samples.

Myles had to admit, as gruesome as parts of it could be, it was interesting to watch them work. He knew basically what was entailed in working with "hot" bio-agents, having been in too many situations around them. But to watch the process of taking them apart to see what made them tick…it gave him a new respect for the CDC and others who spent years, sometimes their entire lives, trying to make his job easier by finding ways to combat these biological nightmares.

He tried not to ask too many questions, and was surprised at how amiably David Dillingham responded to the ones he did ask. For all his arrogance and stubbornness, this was a man who _knew_ his subject, and could translate it easily into "slightly-higher-than-layman's" terms.

Finally, the two scientists finished; the corpse and the remaining material in the cage were placed in a biohazard container, which was then put into a small incinerator. Five thousand degrees Fahrenheit would be enough to destroy the lethally "hot" material. The cage was washed out with a strong bleach solution. They then set the tray of samples in the refrigerator, tidied up the lab, and came back through the airlocks. This time, the chemical shower was on.

When they were back in their street clothes, Paul Griese excused himself, saying he had a late afternoon class, and he'd see them tomorrow. David Dillingham bid him good night, then came over to where Myles was sitting, and began to jot notes in a binder on the counter.

Myles let him work in silence for several minutes. Then he spoke. "Dr. Dillingham?"

"Yes?" The virologist looked up from his notes.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but…may I ask you something?"

"You mean, something else?" was the reply, but the man smiled.

"Well, yes," Myles said, a little ruefully. "How can you tell which strain of Ebola you're dealing with? You've shown me all four, plus Marburg, over the past two days, and they all seem to look alike."

David Dillingham sighed. "_That, _Agent Leland, is probably the biggest crux of the problem in developing a treatment. The filoviruses that comprise the Ebola/Marburg family all look remarkably alike. For example, you can't tell Ebola-Reston, which doesn't transmit to humans, from Ebola-Zaire, the deadliest of the strains, just by looking at them. They're so close that it's difficult to explain _how_ they are different. The only difference seems to be at a genetic level – there's something slightly different about one of the genetic proteins in Ebola-Reston that keeps it from transmitting to humans. But, that's why Ebola-Reston has never been downgraded out of Level 4. The way Ebola can mutate…"

Myles nodded, his face a shade paler than it had been. "I understand. So, given that, how can you develop a treatment?"

"I've been working on pinpointing the traits of the genetic material in the Ebola virus – each of the strains. Then, by working on treatments that block the proteins that are _similar_ in all of the strains, instead of where they differ, we _think_ we've developed the beginnings of something that will help, no matter which strain we're dealing with." He sighed again. "It's difficult to explain…"

"That's all right, Dr. Dillingham. I get the basic idea. Has part of your research also been to develop a quick test to determine which strain you're looking at?"

The virologist nodded. "We did find a chemical that reacts with a particular protein present only in Ebola-Zaire. So, we can at least recognize that. But often, particularly in third-world clinics, they don't even realize they're dealing with Ebola until it's too late. The symptoms are so similar to typhoid or malaria; by the time they realize, thirty people could be dead, with another twenty, or two hundred, waiting in the wings."

**s**

**s**

Wednesday night was equally as uneventful as the rest of the time. Myles, on break for a few hours, picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

Elizabeth, at Tara's apartment with the rest of the team, taking a much-needed change of scenery, jumped up from her seat when she saw the caller ID on her phone. "Uh, Tara?"

"Yeah?" Tara was dishing up spaghetti sauce, while Sue sliced garlic bread.

"May I borrow your guest room for a minute or so?" She waved the cell phone.

Tara grinned. "Of course, take as long as you need. We're going to start without you, though."

"That's okay – go ahead." She answered the phone as she stepped into the quiet room. "Hi!"

His baritone voice warmed her like a fire. "Hey, how's my best girl?"

She laughed. "I'd better be your _only_ girl, or you're in big trouble." She curled up in an armchair by the window. "Our mutual friend driving you crazy yet?"

"Nah — actually, I'm learning a lot."

Her voice grew serious. "I bet." She didn't say anymore about it, because of Ted Garrett's warning. _No _discussion of the case outside of C-5. So she forced her voice back to lightness. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too – that's why I called. Just needed to hear your voice. I can't talk long."

She smiled. "I understand. I'll let you get some sleep before your next shift. I…" She paused.

Silence for a moment. Then: "What?"

She almost said it. Then, sighing, she chickened out. "Nothing. I'll tell you later."

Another pause. "Are you sure?"

She brightened again. "Yes. We have plenty of time. Go get some sleep."

"Good night, Elizabeth." As Myles hung up, he wondered what she'd been going to say, then wondered if it was the same thing that had crossed his mind. His dreams that night were much more pleasant for having talked to her.

**s**

**s**

Thursday morning, Myles walked back into the lab with David Dillingham. "Hey, isn't Paul usually here before you?"

"Hmm…yes, he is. I know he was getting out of a class to help me this week — maybe they had a test he couldn't get out of. He usually calls, though. If he doesn't show up in fifteen minutes or so, I'll try him on his cell phone."

The virologist suited up and went into the "hot zone," going first to the refrigerator and pulling out the tray of samples they'd taken the day before.

Myles wasn't paying a whole lot of attention, until he heard a gasp over the intercom. He looked up. "What is it, Dr. Dillingham?"

The virologist was staring at the tray. "There's a vial missing."

"Are you sure?" Myles' heart was down around his gut and pounding like a bass drum. "David…are you positive?"

"Yes, I'm positive. They were all here last night when Paul and I came out. Now, there's one missing." He looked up with a dismayed expression. "And there's only one other person besides myself who has the clearance to get all the way in here."

Myles nodded gravely. "Paul Greise." He ran out into the hallway and through the sealed doors. Dimitrius looked up at him in surprise.

"D, get over to HQ and tell Jack we have a problem." His voice was devoid of emotion, but his eyes made up for it. "It appears that Dr. Dillingham's assistant has removed a vial of Ebola-laced blood from the lab."


	6. Running the Gauntlet

**Chapter 6: Running the Gauntlet**

"_Please_ tell me this is a practical joke." Lucy looked from Jack to Dimitrius.

"Believe me," Dimitrius responded, "I wish it were. Paul Greise didn't show up for work today, and when Dr. Dillingham took out a tray of samples they'd taken yesterday from a monkey that died of Ebola, there was a vial missing. Nobody else could have gotten into the "hot zone" without leaving some trace that they'd been there. The good news, if you can call it that, is that he at least packaged it according to regulations before he took it out of the lab."

"All right," Bobby added, his face registering a touch of the previous day's pallor, "but _why_? Are they going to drop it in the middle of the conference?"

Elizabeth looked up, watching them all. She could almost hear the gears turning as they silently brain-stormed about what this latest development could mean. Then she remembered something from the report Tara had given them on Ebola. "Wait. Didn't you say Ebola _isn't_ currently known to be transmittable through the air?"

Tara replied, "Ebola-Reston is the only strain they've really even had any theories about being airborne."

"Myles said the vial contained Ebola-Zaire," D said.

Jack nodded. "So a large-scale attack is unlikely."

Sue caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned. Elizabeth had brought her hand up to her mouth, and now Sue watched her green eyes widen and her breathing quicken, as she stared at the layout of the conference hall. WHAT? she signed.

_I think I know what they're going to do, _the psychologist signed back.

Sue touched Jack's arm and pointed to Elizabeth. He turned to look at her. "Dr. Dillingham?"

Elizabeth felt a little ill as she looked up at him. "Jack, I really hope I'm wrong on this, but…if you're looking to eliminate a scientist who is the sole source of treatment for a deadly virus, what more fitting way than to infect him with that same virus? By the time anyone else figures it out, he won't be able to help them modify his treatment — it's never been tested on humans."

Jack swallowed. "And it would take years to redo all his work."

Bobby pointed to the layout on the table. "Put a single man in, say, the balcony — easier shot at the podium, less people to get hit by mistake…"

"But how?" Sue asked. "A tranquilizer gun or something similar?"

"Could be," Bobby replied, "or it could be something as simple as a revolver-sized crossbow, or a bloody blowgun, for all we know."

A ring from the telephone brought them all out of their brainstorming. Tara answered it and listened for a minute. "Ok, hang on." She turned to the team. "Jack, Myles says they found Paul Greise in a storage room near the lab. He doesn't appear to be hurt, but he's not responsive. They've got him in Dr. Dillingham's lab right now."

Jack reached for his coat. "Tell Myles we'll be right there. Elizabeth, would you join us, please? We may need your help."

"Of course." The room emptied in a hurry.

**s**

**s **

David Dillingham checked his assistant's pupils once again. "Still normal. He looks like he's in shock, but none of the other symptoms match."

"Well, we've got to come up with some way to get through to him," Bobby said. "We've got less than twenty-four hours to figure out what's going on and how to stop it."

Elizabeth was watching the young man in the chair. He didn't seem to be in any pain; he appeared totally relaxed, just unresponsive. Suddenly, the answer clicked into her head. "Agent Hudson, may I?"

Jack nodded. "Go ahead."

She pulled up a chair close to Paul Greise and looked probingly at him for a long minute. "He's in a hypnotic trance of some sort."

"Drug-induced, maybe?"

"It's possible. I can't imagine he'd go through it voluntarily if they grabbed him, and if he was working with them they wouldn't have had to do it anyway." She noticed something, and pushed Paul's shirt collar off the left side of his neck. There, at the base of his throat, was a small red dot surrounded by a faint red circle. "Vaccination gun."

Dimitrius paled a little. "Ebola?"

"No, I don't think so," Elizabeth replied. "From what I read, if he'd been infected with Ebola just last night, he'd still be responsive. I think this is where they gave him a shot of whatever's got him in this trance." She looked up at her grandfather. "Do you have the equipment in here to do a tox-screen — quickly?"

"Yes. And you're right about it not being Ebola – he'd be able to respond." He reached for a syringe to take a blood sample.

While the lab computer was processing, the team continued to discuss their options. Jack took the lead.

"All right," he said, "we have a problem. We could just shut down the conference—"

"And let our terrorists disappear with a vial of Ebola?" Myles was incredulous. "You can't be serious!"

Jack finished his sentence. "— but we don't want them to disappear with the Ebola." He raised an eyebrow at Myles, who raised both hands in an _okay-sorry-I'll-shut-up_ gesture. "Or, we let the conference go on, and pray we can get this guy, or guys, before anyone gets hurt."

"We'll have to have bio-gear available, just in case somebody gets hit," Bobby added. "But we can't be wearing it, or they'll spot us in a half-second."

"Dr. Dillingham..." Jack started.

The older man nodded. "I understand, Agent Hudson, believe me. But I don't want this virus out on the street any more than you do. 'Death begins today' is not the slogan I want this conference to end on."

Suddenly, Paul Greise stirred, shaking his head as if to clear it. He looked up at the group surrounding him. "What—? Where am I? What happened?"

Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair. "Paul, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh..."

"It's all right, Paul—take your time." Her voice was calm and soothing.

Jack's nerves were anything but. "What brought him out of it?"

Elizabeth turned to face him. "I suspect that the phrase 'death begins today' did. Whoever captured him probably planted it in his mind. It was simply a coincidence that Grandfather used it, or we'd have had to wait a lot longer for whatever drug this is to wear off." Her grandfather handed her a printout. She studied it for a minute, then nodded. "Benzo-diazapene. A mild tranquilizer, until you get into high dosages, like they used on him – then it's a powerful hypnotic."

Paul looked confused. "Hypnotic? I remember walking back to my car from class last night, then a couple of guys grabbing me and jamming a needle or something into my neck, then...nothing...until just now." He looked around again. "What's going on?"

"_That_, Mr. Greise," Jack said, "is going to take some explaining. Which we just don't have time for right now."

**s**

**s **

_Friday, 7 am_

Friday morning dawned cold and clear. Elizabeth watched from the lobby of the World Health Organization's regional office as the sun came up, setting the ice-glazed sidewalk ablaze with light. In just two hours, the conference hall would begin filling with people, and she couldn't shake the intense foreboding that was churning its way through her body and her soul.

She didn't have to be here; in fact, she'd had eight different conversations over the past ten hours about just that, one of them in rapid-fire ASL. Even her grandfather had tried to talk her out of being here. But she couldn't leave. She had been part of this almost from the beginning; it just didn't seem right to walk out in the middle of it.

The one conversation that stood out in her mind most clearly was the last one. It surprised her that Myles had waited as long as he had to voice his concern ...

"_You shouldn't be here," he said finally. They'd been going around and around the subject for ten minutes._

"_Neither should you. Neither should any person with even a shred of sanity left in them." Her voice broke slightly at the end, and she had to swallow hard to regain control. She was exhausted, and nearing her limit._

_He took her by the shoulders. "I have to be here. I thought you understood that. It's my job."_

"_I know." And that did it — the tears she'd been holding back for three days broke through, and she leaned against his chest, letting all the tension and all the worry pour from her soul like Sunday's blizzard._

_He held her tightly, putting everything else on hold out of an understanding that he'd have denied to the death in front of his colleagues. He understood that it took training and experience to be able to clamp down the emotions associated with any case, and the fear that inevitably came with cases like this one. He understood, not only that Elizabeth didn't have that training, but also that her worry stemmed from emotions they hadn't explored yet—one particular emotion toward each other that he was only now realizing the startling power of_. _That was part of why she had stayed, and part of why he was trying so hard to make her go. And he couldn't say anything about it — now. Not when he needed to be clear-headed and sharp._

_After a few minutes, he stroked her hair. "Elizabeth..." His voice was gentle, but it held a touch of command._

_She nodded against him, and brought herself back under control. She took a deep breath, and looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered._

"_It's all right," he replied, "but..."_

"_I know. We need to get ready." She held a finger to his lips as he started to speak. "Don't try to talk me out of this, Myles, please. I can't walk away from this now any more than you can. It may be that I shouldn't be here, but I need_ _to be here."_

_He nodded. "Just promise me you won't take any unnecessary chances. Let us do our jobs."_

"_You have my word." ..._

She had stayed away from him since then, needing the distance to clear her head as much as she knew he did. In a few minutes they'd all go over last-minute details, but until then she'd stay out here and try to internalize some of the control she'd watched in each member of the team.

_How do they do this, day in and day out? Why_ _do they do this?_ Neither question brought a lot of comfort, but they did distract her. As she pondered, a thought popped into her head. It was from a movie she'd seen years ago; she didn't even realize she'd paid enough attention to memorize it, but now it brought an answer:

_A knight is sworn to valor;_

_His heart knows only virtue;_

_His blade defends the helpless;_

_His might upholds the weak;_

_His word speaks only truth;_

_His wrath undoes the wicked._

She drew in her breath quickly, letting the analogy take shape in her mind — _Dragonheart _— this virus, this threat, every threat, was a dragon in hiding, waiting to unleash itself on the innocent. Every single day, these men and women willingly placed themselves between the danger and the defenseless, in the name of justice and valor and the hope of peace. The armor and the weapons might have changed, but the principles were the same. She thought hard on that, letting it fill her with strength, and the control she sought.

"Liz?" Tara called to her.

The psychologist squared her shoulders and drew another breath. "I'm coming."

**s**

**s **

_Friday, 8:30 am_

"All right," Jack said. "We haven't got any idea as to who we're looking for. There will be scientists here from all over the world in thirty minutes' time, so there's no way to pinpoint our target until he makes a move. Here's the setup: Tara will be in the command center. Sue and Lucy will be in the lobby. Bobby and I will be in the balcony. Dimitrius will be here," he continued, pointing to the layout, "at the front near the east side of the stage. And Myles will be on the stage with Dr. Dillingham."

"Just call me Bambi," came a laconic comment from the back. Myles was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his gaze unfocused. "Staring into the oncoming headlights."

Elizabeth looked over at him in shock, then realized she was seeing a tactic, as keenly devised as any of their planning. It was strange that such morbid humor could be comforting.

Jack finished up. "Elizabeth, I'd like you in with Tara."

She looked at him and silently made a decision. "You could use another set of eyes here, Agent Hudson," she said quietly, pointing at the west side of the stage, where a ramp allowed wheelchair access onto the platform. There was a small open area between the ramp and the stage wall.

"Elizabeth, _no._" She heard her grandfather and Myles in perfect unison.

Her gaze never wavered from the lead agent. "It's sheltered by the ramp, Jack. It's probably the safest angle in the whole building. I won't be in Myles' sight line. And you said yourself that the assassin could be _anyone_ in the room. An extra set of eyes could make the difference. Please — let me help."

Jack saw Myles in his peripheral vision, shaking his head vigorously. He didn't turn, just kept his eyes locked with Elizabeth's, considering what he was going to say. Then he saw her eyes shift. Something took place in the long silent moment between the psychologist and the tall agent leaning against the wall. Myles' head dropped for a moment; he took a deep breath, then looked up at her again and nodded, just once. Her eyes flipped back to Jack.

Now he knew what to say. "We'll get you set up with a radio."

**s**

**s **

"You're crazy, you know that?" The weak smile couldn't dim the respect she saw in his eyes.

Elizabeth didn't smile. "Most likely. But I can't just sit and do nothing."

Myles was very quiet for a minute, turning over in his mind a problem he had no immediate solution for. They were alone in the "mission room;" in about ten minutes everything would begin, and he was having a hard time concentrating. If he were going to be _anywhere_ but on the stage, right in the bulls-eye, so to speak, it wouldn't be a problem. But he was, and he needed to be ready for it.

The solution presented itself, then — the one thing he'd been avoiding, to keep his head clear, was the exact thing that would clear it. It was time. He took a breath and looked at the woman, standing across the table from him, who had become such an important part of his life in so short a time.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Come here for a second," he said softly, holding out his hand.

She walked around the table to him. He gently stroked her cheek, then let his fingers tangle in her dark hair. "What were you going to tell me on the phone the other night?"

Her green eyes widened. "Why? Why _now_?"

"Because it's important right now. I almost said something to you that night, too. And I _need_ to say it now, just..." He paused. "Just in case."

She started to respond, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and he placed a finger on her lips. "I love you, Elizabeth Dillingham. I never thought I'd say that to anyone, certainly not after just three months, but I do – completely, hopelessly, passionately. Whatever happens, good or bad, I want you to know that."

A single tear streaked down one cheek, but her smile was like brilliant sunshine breaking through the clouds. "I love you, too, Myles. Whatever happens." She stretched up on her toes and gave him a gentle kiss. "With all my heart."

He allowed them both a moment longer, then he squeezed her hand and his voice was all business again. "Shall we?"

Her answer puzzled him, but she was out the door before he could ask. "The dragon awaits."

**s**

**s **

_Friday morning, 9 am_

She could almost hear eight hearts pounding in rhythm with her own; the hall was nearly full, and they were no closer to an answer. There had been metal detectors at the doors, and nothing more lethal than a nail file had turned up.

There were people here from every nationality and ethnic group imaginable, fifteen hundred of them, and any one of them could be an assassin. Even revising the search to the balcony section alone didn't help much – five hundred potential dragons weren't that much different than fifteen hundred.

Elizabeth felt a little like a kid playing dress-up. Because the walls on either side of the stage were black, and her hair dark, it had been suggested that she be dressed in black as well, and she could be their close-up eyes, thanks to a small set of high-powered binoculars. Her face would be covered mostly by the wheelchair ramp, and the field glasses would camouflage the rest. She felt about as far out of her element as possible. _Someday I'm going to get Grandfather for dragging me into this. _

She let out her breath in frustration, and took a moment to reorient herself. She adjusted the binoculars, and began once again to scan the audience for any signs of ...anything. As she scanned the room, she was aware of the conversation going on in her ear.

"Does anybody see _anything_ that's helpful?" Jack's voice on the radio mirrored her emotions.

"Naw," came Bobby's reply, "as far as we know, our assassin could be anyone from the Indian lady in the blue sari to the tall blond guy in the tropical shirt to the old guy wearing the purple fez."

"Got a couple of nuns in my sight line," D added, "or two guys in kilts."

"Nobody's popped any alarms in the lobby," Sue's voice was next. Her radio was unique; it relayed everyone else's comments as text, allowing her to participate. The FBI's "gadget" department had just finished it for her last week.

"Still running the attendees against our database," Tara added, "but it's going to take awhile to run fifteen hundred faces."

"That's not going to be an option, then," Myles intoned. "No offense, Tara Tech."

Tara's voice held a smile. "None taken – yet. I'll hack into your office computer later."

"Keep your eyes peeled, people." Jack quelled the levity, even though he knew it was simply his team's way of fending off the frustration. "Here we go. Myles, you're on."

The ten-year veteran agent took a deep breath, stood, and walked over to the podium, a sheet of paper in his hand with David Dillingham's introduction on it. In the interest of safety, the team had decided the fewer people who "stared into the headlights," the better.

Elizabeth didn't look at him, since she was intent on the faces in the audience, but she couldn't help but marvel at how calm his voice was as he read her grandfather's extensive credentials. He was essentially looking down the dragon's throat, and he could have been discussing his last golf game.

_Down the dragon's throat..._ the image gave her a hunch, and she focused the binoculars into the balcony, concentrating on the center seats in each row, every seat a direct line to the podium. A woman in red plaid...a young black man wearing beige...an older lady in lavender...the faces began to blur together in her sight. A quick shake to clear her head, and back to it, this time starting in the front row...

"And now, ladies and gentlemen..."

...a man in green, bending over to pick up something he'd dropped, perhaps...

"...Dr. David Dillingham."

She saw the man's hand come up, and time seemed to stop. The dragon reared its head.

"Jack, Bobby, front row center, in green! He's going to fire!" Her voice, her thoughts, the action around her blurred into a montage...

_A knight is sworn to valor..._

Jack and Bobby made synchronous leaps toward the gunman, but it was too late. The weapon discharged silently, yet she saw the movement of the dragon's breath...

_His heart knows only virtue..._

Myles was on his feet already, made the podium in a single stride and shoved David Dillingham out of the way. The older man went sprawling across the polished stage. Myles dropped down behind the podium.

_His blade defends the helpless..._

"FBI, freeze!" Jack's voice rang out as he and Bobby grabbed the shooter amidst a din of panicked voices. Jack pulled a lead canister out of the man's coat. "Got the vial. He's clear."

_His might upholds the weak... _

"Ladies and gentlemen." Myles' voice resounded over the PA. He was standing at the podium again. "Ladies and gentlemen. Please remain calm. The situation is under control."

_His word speaks only truth..._

"We ask that you calmly exit to the lobby. The conference will resume shortly. Thank you for your cooperation." Elizabeth heard something in his voice that made her turn and look at him again.

He was still standing, but she noticed for the first time that his left hand was clamped over his right shoulder. She watched his face — he was fighting hard to stay on his feet. _Oh, no...no..._

_His wrath undoes the wicked... _

"Hands behind your head!" Bobby sank his knee into the assassin's back and slapped the cuffs on him. As soon as the man was secured, Bobby glanced down at the stage. He saw Myles leaning against the podium, as if he were having trouble standing. The Aussie watched his friend reach out toward Elizabeth, his right hand forming a sign of some sortindex, thumb and pinky extended, middle and ring folded down... _I love you... _and Myles collapsed in a heap on the stage.

"Elizabeth!" Bobby called over the radio, "What happened? What's wrong with Myles?" He watched as she scrambled up onto the stage. Then he heard her gasp.

"Bobby...he's got a dart in his shoulder."


	7. The Price of Peace

**Chapter 7: The Price of Peace**

_Friday, 9:10 am_

David Dillingham was getting to his feet now, and his voice rang out in alarm. "Elizabeth! No! The virus! Get into your bio-gear!" He slid the case across the stage to her. She tore the radio off her head and struggled to get everything out.

She would never know how she managed to get into gloves, mask, goggles and gown in the time it took her grandfather to cross fifteen feet of stage, but she was ready when he reached her.

"What's wrong with him, Grandfather? Why is he out cold? You said the Ebola wouldn't do this!" Her voice cracked under the strain.

"It wouldn't," he replied, more calmly than he felt. "They probably combined the virus with a tranquilizer - if you all hadn't been here, it would have looked at first like I'd had a heart attack or a stroke."

She drew a deep breath, and exhaled as Dimitrius skidded to her other side, already in his gear. The movement seemed to help her focus. "All right. What do I do? I doubt we'll want to move him with a virus-laden needle still stuck in his shoulder."

"Just hold his arm for a minute. Agent Gans, please help me – he's got his other hand clamped over the dart pretty good here, even unconscious." Her grandfather had his gloves on, and pulled a heavy-duty plastic freezer bag out of the case. He turned it inside out as he put his hand into it, then reached over and gently removed the small projectile from Myles' shoulder. The virologist pulled the bag right side out, still holding the dart, then sealed it shut. He sprayed the outside of the bag with something from the case, then put a second bag around the first and sprayed that one down. Elizabeth caught a whiff of a strong chemical. "Sodium hypochlorite," he said in answer to her unspoken question. "A disinfectant."

Dimitrius said, "We've got an ambulance on its way — we told them to come around to the side, so we don't spook the crowd."

"Tell Tara to call University Hospital and let them know they need to set up a full-blown quarantine area," David Dillingham said, as he pulled a small syringe out of the case. D nodded, and turned away for a moment to talk to Tara.

Elizabeth watched as her grandfather drew a blood sample from Myles. "What are you doing?"

He looked up at her. "I don't want to take the chance of spreading this virus through the hospital. I'll do his blood work at my lab, and bring the results over." He packaged the second needle like the first.

She started to say something, but it caught in her throat. The older man paused, and then gently placed a hand on her arm.

"Stay with him, Elizabeth. Stay in your bio-gear, but _stay with him_. He's going to need all the love and every prayer you've got."

**s**

**s **

_Friday, 4 pm_

Myles groaned and stirred as he felt soft fingers on his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly. "What…?

Elizabeth's face was hidden behind a mask, and her eyes were slightly blurred by her goggles. "The dart had a tranquilizer in it, too, love — you've been out for about seven hours."

He gripped her hand tightly. "Elizabeth…did we get the guy? Please tell me we at least got him."

She nodded. "Yes. They got him. They got the rest of the vial. It just wasn't —" Her voice caught, and she had to swallow once before she could continue. "It wasn't quite fast enough."

"Your grandfather?"

"He's fine," she replied. "He's doing your blood work in his lab, so they don't have to risk contaminating the one here."

"Oh." Suddenly, the full realization of what had happened hit him. He released her hand as if he'd been burned, and came halfway up out of the hospital bed. "_What are you doing in here?_ Elizabeth, no, you can't —"

"Myles." Her voice broke through with enough power to make him pause. She placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "Stop. Just listen for a minute, then you can yell at me if you want to."

He started to protest again, then stopped. "All right."

Her green eyes were ablaze. "Look at me, Myles. I've been in full-barrier nursing gear ever since you collapsed on the stage. Dimitrius, Grandfather and I got you into the ambulance, because we didn't want to risk the EMTs. We brought you in here. And you're not sick yet — remember, Ebola takes at least two days before the symptoms present themselves."

"I don't want you in—"

She cut him off with an angry wave of her hand. "Myles, I'm not going to let you lay here for two days, knowing full well what's coming, _by yourself_. Don't ask me to."

He stared at her incredulously for a long moment, then closed his eyes tightly and drew in a sharp breath, as if against a sudden pain.

Elizabeth's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" At his nod, she sighed. "Still want to yell at me?"

"No." He took her gloved hand in his before he opened his eyes. "Unfortunately, that mask prevents me from doing what I want to do instead." He surveyed the glove very carefully before he brought her palm to his lips. "I guess this will have to do. You are something else, you know that?"

She shrugged. "If the situation were reversed, would _you_ be waiting out in the hall?" She read the answer in his eyes. "I didn't think so. By the way, there are a few other people out in that hall who'd like to see how you're doing."

Myles sighed heavily. "And I suppose it would be useless to protest?"

The mask tightened a little as she smiled. "Completely. But I think Jack will persuade the rest of them of the good sense in limiting the number of visitors."

"_Good sense?_ That's a trait I'm finding in rather short supply right now." He gave her a meaningful look.

Her eyes filled with tears, though the smile didn't fade, and her voice softened. "'Unless you can swear, 'For life, for death!' — Oh fear to call it loving.'"

Myles smiled back at her. "Elizabeth Barrett Browning." Then the smile faded, and his hand tightened over hers again. "You've been here with me for seven hours, plus the entire night before the conference… When's the last time you slept?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"It does. Because I'm going to tell Jack not to let you back in here until you've had at least four hours of sleep." She started to protest, and he held up a hand to stop her. "Don't argue with me, Elizabeth. You're not the only one here who cares."

Her head came up, and the hurt in her eyes went through him like a knife. He sat up and took her by the shoulders, the closest to an embrace he dared. "I'm sorry. I know that's not what you think. But, sweetheart, you are _exhausted_. If you're going to be in here, then you need some rest, if for no other reason than your resistance is lower when you're tired. Please…we have time."

He regretted saying it almost immediately, because the breath she drew in was harsh with tears. But she remained composed as she nodded. "All right. I'll try. I'll let the team know you're awake." She touched his cheek again, then stood and walked to the door. She paused, then turned back to him. "That's the first time you've ever called me anything but 'Elizabeth'."

Myles flashed a grin. "Sorry it took me so long."

A sad smile tightened the mask again. "You know, now I wish that kiss I gave you just before the conference had been a little longer."

**s**

**s **

_Friday, 10 pm_

"I thought we'd find you here." Bobby Manning walked into the hospital's small chapel with Tara. Elizabeth was just sitting up from where she'd been asleep on one of the sofas at the back. "Feel better?"

She stretched. "Actually, yes. What time is it?"

Tara checked her watch. "About 10 pm."

"What? Six hours! Why didn't someone come find me before now?"

Bobby grinned at her. "You think any of _us_ wanted to risk Myles' wrath?"

Despite the circumstances, she couldn't help but laugh. "Going to leave me by myself on that one, huh?

"He's all yours." Bobby sat down next to her. "Your grandfather's here, by the way. He's in talking to Myles right now."

She sighed, then dropped her head into her hands. "This is a nightmare. And there's nothing I can do but sit and watch."

Tara exchanged a glance with Bobby, then put her arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. "You know," she said softly, "I think we're in the right place to do a lot more than that."

Elizabeth looked up at her friend, something like hope brightening her eyes through the tears. She reached out for Tara's hand. "You're right." She started to turn, then felt Bobby take her other hand. The psychologist couldn't resist raising an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. "Hey, I may give him a hard time, but the team's still family. Shall we?"

A few minutes later, Elizabeth squeezed her friends' hands. "Thanks, both of you. I needed this as much as Myles does right now. Because I just thought of something else I can do besides sit and watch."

**s**

**s **

_Friday, 10 pm_

"Come on, David. You're not going to tell me anything I don't already know. So out with it."

The virologist turned from the window, his arms still folded across his chest. "All right. You're right, Myles — after this case, I don't need to tell you what's going to happen. By all current studies, you have only a 10 chance of surviving Ebola-Zaire. And it doesn't let the other 90 out of this world easily." He watched the younger man swallow hard, but admired the fact that the blue-grey eyes never wavered. "We can try administering a hyper-immune serum, before your symptoms start – it's had some very limited success. Or…" He trailed off.

"Or what?"

David Dillingham sighed and walked over to sit beside the bed. He folded his hands together, his elbows on his knees, and looked down at the floor. For a moment, Myles could see every one of the virologist's seventy-six years.

"Myles, I should have every credential to my name revoked for what I'm about to say. But I know my granddaughter, and I have seen just how deeply she cares for you. I will shortly be having this conversation with her; I'm sure of that." He paused to rub his temples with his fingertips.

Myles nodded. "You're going to suggest that we try your prototype."

Dr. Dillingham looked up. "Not a suggestion. Merely an option. I wouldn't attempt to persuade _anyone_ to try a completely untested substance, no matter what the situation. However, since I knew that Elizabeth, at least, would approach me about it, I spent some extra time in the lab synthesizing enough serum to use if you were to choose that option. That's why it took me so long to get over here."

The agent considered him for a long moment. "What kind of a chance would it give me?

The older man shook his head. "I don't have any hard facts to give you. Not even remotely."

"All right, let me rephrase that: Based on the data you have right now, _if_ your serum works in the same manner it has in your testing so far, would my chances of living through this relatively intact be any better than they are now?"

"Yes."

"How much better?"

"Fifty percent."

"And you believe you can modify the dosage sufficiently, given the data you have?"

The virologist nodded. "Yes. We'd administer it gradually, build it up in your system before your symptoms start, and keep checking your blood work to chart the progress. I have a small lab unit I can bring in here to do it. Since it's already been thirteen hours since you were infected, we'll have to start within the next hour."

He looked at Myles gravely. "Something else you need to know – I don't dare combine this serum with anything other than a saline solution to keep your fluid levels balanced. If this doesn't work…"

"I understand, David." The agent regarded him steadily. "It's a one-shot. But it's a shot I'm willing to take over one-in-ten odds without it."

The older man looked startled for a moment; then he nodded. "All right, then. I'm not going to lie to you, Myles — even if the serum does work, it's still not going to be an easy battle. All I can offer you is a better chance of a way out when the battle's over."

"If I'd wanted only easy battles, I would never have signed on with the FBI."

**s**

**s **

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door and Elizabeth entered, once again in full bio-hazard gear. But both men could tell she was geared up for more than protection; she was armed for a fight.

"Jack said to tell you that he reached your folks, and they should be here within the hour." Elizabeth sat down on the bed next to Myles and ran her hand through his hair. "How are you doing?"

"I'm alright. Did you get some sleep?"

She smiled through the mask. "You told Jack not to let me back in here if I didn't. He took you very seriously."

He reached for her hand. "Good. Your grandfather and I have been discussing…well…"

She didn't let him finish, her expression darkening. "What? Odds? How about options?" She turned to her grandfather. "What about your prototype?"

Her grandfather looked at her sternly. "You're a clinical psychologist, Elizabeth — a medical doctor. Surely you of all people realize the ethical considerations involved in bringing that up as a viable option."

"Ethical considerations?" Her voice went up a notch.

"Elizabeth…" Myles started.

She didn't even hear him. "This man just saved your life. He's in this hospital with a _ninety-percent chance_ of never walking out of it again, and you're lecturing me about _ethical considerations_? You were all set to present your findings at the conference earlier today. You must have _some_ confidence in its viability."

"Well, yes, and —"

Her grandfather didn't get any further. Her voice was shaking now. "But simply because it's not been tested, you're just going to let another human being almost certainly die? Your specialty might be virology, but you're still a _doctor_, Grandfather. What happened to doing everything in your power to save a life?"

Myles reached for her hand, his voice soothing, "Sweetheart,—"

She wrenched her hand away and swung on him. "_Don't!_ Don't you _dare_ take his side on this! I know it's a long shot, but it's a shot…it's _something_, some semblance of hope! If you're just going to lie there and wait for your 10 chance, fine! But I won't watch you do it, Myles Leland, I won't! I'll walk out of this room right now and not come back!"

Her grandfather tried again. "Elizabeth, that's _enough_."

She swung back around. "Oh, no, it's not, not by a long shot. Let me tell you something, Grandfather—" And she was off again.

Myles caught David's eye and raised his eyebrows. He pointed to Elizabeth, then drew his fingers across his face as if to indicate a surgical mask. Then he spread his hands, palms-up — a question.

The virologist looked confused for a second; then a knowing smile crossed his face, and his breath shook in a silent laugh. He nodded, and said, very quietly, "It'll be enough; just don't get carried away."

Elizabeth apparently hadn't seen or heard any of the exchange, because she was still going. "—can't _believe_ you'd just —" She stopped abruptly as Myles grabbed her hand, pulled her down to sit next to him, took her by the shoulders and kissed her squarely on the lips through her mask.

Her eyes widened as he let her go, and he couldn't resist. "Hmm…loses something in the translation." He watched her eyes flare, and when she took a breath to lace into him, he squeezed her shoulders again. "Elizabeth, just _stop_ for a minute!" He looked at her fondly, and a soft laugh escaped him.

She glared at him. "Mind telling me what you find so amusing?" She was so angry her voice had lowered in pitch almost to his baritone.

Her fury only softened his gaze further. "Sweetheart, your grandfather already _offered_ the option. And I told him I would take the chance with his treatment. He was about to get started."

She started to retort, then she blinked. "He did…you did…he _was_?"

He laughed softly again. "_Yes_."

"Oh." Elizabeth looked over at her grandfather, totally derailed and a little chagrined. "Sorry."

The older man was chuckling, too. "It's nice to see the Dillingham temper is still strong in the bloodline. I'll go get my equipment."

**s**

**s **

Myles had let go of Elizabeth's shoulders and was now holding both of her hands. When she turned back to face him, the intensity in his eyes made her cheeks grow warm. "What?" she asked.

His smile warmed her further. "I think _that_ tirade just might qualify you to be a Leland someday."

She reared back a little at that, then shook her head in disbelief. "How can you be so _calm_ about this?"

He thought about that for a minute, trying to put into words what he was feeling. It actually amazed _him_, too, that the abject terror of what he was facing was tempered somehow. Part of it had to be the prayers he knew were being said in his behalf (the fact that some of them were being offered at _all_, considering how he came across at times, was rather humbling). And part of it was sitting right in front of him. As Myles looked up at her again, the rest of what he was feeling suddenly became clear, and he found the words he needed.

"Calm? I'm terrified," he began. "But, at the same time … I'm not sure if this will make any sense…I know I did my job. I did what I was supposed to do, Elizabeth – protect the innocent. And if my life has to be the price for it, then I'll pay it gladly. That was the one thing I came out of counseling more sure of than ever before in ten years with the FBI. This is probably going to sound a little corny," he admitted with a smile, "but I guess the best way to put it is 'let peace begin with me' — whatever the cost."

"Now there's an answer I never thought I'd hear coming out of _your_ mouth." Bobby was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway, swathed in full bio-gear, his arms folded across his chest.

Myles surprised him again by not immediately putting his defenses back up. "And I certainly never expected you to brave Ebola just to needle me some more. Guess neither one of us is as hopeless as the other had thought."

There was the sound of a knock, and they all turned to see Sue at the glass window separating the bio-hazard dressing area from the room itself. She signed something to Elizabeth, then flashed a smile at Myles and signed something else. Then she went out to the waiting area again.

"What did she say?" Myles asked.

Elizabeth turned back around to face him, and he saw more hope in her eyes than he'd seen in the past several hours. "She was telling us that your folks are here. And she said to tell you that she'd make sure Bobby didn't swipe your "Seniors Speaker" trophy while you were out sick."

That brought a laugh from both men, and Myles raised an eyebrow at Bobby. "Have you ever noticed that we seem to be surrounded by the most phenomenal women on the planet?" Bobby nodded, still chuckling.

"With all the trouble you get into, it's a good thing," Elizabeth quipped. She took a deep breath. "This is _not_ the way I expected to meet your parents, by the way."

"I know," he replied, "but they're going to love you. Don't worry."

She ruffled his hair again, smiling. "I don't think I have _room_ for any more worry right now, love." She turned to Bobby. "Keep an eye on him, will you? Grandfather should be back in a minute to start the treatment."

The Aussie nodded. "No worries, sheila."

She headed out the door just as her grandfather was coming back in. He set up the small lab unit in the corner, then came over to Myles. He spoke quietly for a minute, outlining what was likely to happen, what side effects were possible. The blond agent nodded, and Dr. Dillingham administered the first dosage of his serum into the IV tube. Then he stepped back with a sigh.

"Now we wait. I'll come back in about an hour and draw a blood sample." He went out.

Bobby looked at his friend, unable to keep a grin off his face. "You realize, if this works, you're probably gonna be on the cover of _The New England Journal of Medicine_."

"Hey, as I'm sure you're about to point out, I've tried everything else." The grin didn't fade, but changed somehow. "Look, Bobby, for what it's worth…thanks for keeping me humble."

Bobby stared at him for a minute. "I'm going to blame that on the medication, I think."

Myles let his breath out in a laugh. "Ordinarily, I'd agree with you. But… you know, I'm really starting to hate the words 'just in case.'"

The Aussie's voice held a strange edge. "Then quit using them. I don't think I can take you sincere. Messes up my whole image."

"You mean I get to rattle you for a change? Hmm…all this might be worth it after all."

Bobby's face paled. "Don't, okay. Just…don't. I don't want to hear it." He stood abruptly and walked over to look out the window.

It was the _last_ reaction Myles had expected. He knew they had a pretty good friendship, even if it was kind of weirdly defined. The fact that they could banter with each other so easily was a testament to that. But he certainly hadn't expected this.

After a moment, Bobby Manning turned back to face him. "Sorry," he started. "Look, a couple of days ago, I read a file out of Dr. Dillingham's research notes. It was a case file on an Ebola victim – pretty detailed, too."

"Ah." Myles nodded. "And you'd just as soon not put a face to the nightmare. Even mine."

A shade of the trademark grin reappeared. "Even yours, mate. Besides, I don't want to have to start new on somebody else, trying to see how far I can push them." He walked back over and sat down. "So don't you go and ruin all my fun, eh?"

Myles held out a hand to him. "I'll do my best."

"Good." Bobby shook the proffered hand. "And I'll continue to keep you humble."


	8. Through the Fire

**Chapter 8: Through the Fire**   
_Sunday, 1 p.m._

The past thirty-six hours had been a blur for Elizabeth. Most of the time she'd spent in with Myles, talking about any number of things, or just being with him. Her grandfather's serum was administered every two hours, after which the virologist would draw a blood sample to run through his lab unit. After awhile, though, she was exhausted again, and it all started to run together.

A few moments stood out; meeting Robert and Anne Leland, for one thing. It didn't take long for her to realize where Myles had inherited that fierce pride and sharp wit. And she could see in his mother the same quiet strength and gentleness he saved for her when they were alone. The most incredible thing though, was their faith – an absolute certainty that, whatever the outcome, God was watching over their son. In some ways, it helped; in others, it just added to the realization that she had some hard decisions to make.

The other moment that stood out was an impromptu prayer circle. She had walked out of Myles' room to find the entire team, including Ted Garrett, with their heads bowed and Bobby Manning — _Bobby _— speaking for all of them. Only Sue's eyes were open, so she could follow what he was saying, so only she had seen Elizabeth. She had released Jack's hand and motioned Elizabeth over between them. Again, the gesture had brought a mix of comfort and confusion.

It was Sunday afternoon. She was sitting out in the waiting area, curled up on a chair with her arms around her knees and her head resting on top of them, alone for the moment. The team had gotten a call; Ted Garrett couldn't leave them out indefinitely. Myles' parents were in with him — under protest from their son, but there nonetheless. Her grandfather was catching a little sleep before "the fire," as he was putting it. And so she was left with her thoughts.

The problem wasn't that her feelings for him were changing – just the implications of those feelings. When Myles had made the offhand comment about her qualifying to be a Leland, her heart had skipped a beat; she knew, without consciously thinking about it, that she wanted that more than anything. If he had proposed to her right then, she'd have said yes.

But she was only now truly realizing that just wanting it wasn't enough – he'd chosen a dangerous path for himself, and she would have to walk that path with him. She wasn't sure she was ready for that. _Is my love for him deep enough to be willing to let him go at any time, if that's what his job requires?_

A gentle hand on her hair brought her out of her thoughts. Anne Leland had come out, and was surveying her with the understanding of a woman deeply in love.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?"

The psychologist stretched, then tucked her legs underneath her. "Just thinking. How's Myles doing?"

The older woman sighed. "It's hard to tell. Your grandfather's serum has him pretty groggy right now. Or it may just be that he's exhausted."

"Probably both," Elizabeth replied.

"You know," Anne said with a smile, "I'm glad we finally got to meet you. Myles doesn't write or call very often, but in the last three months you're all he talks about when he does. I've never seen him like this."

Elizabeth smiled. "My friend Tara says the same thing about me. And I usually see her once a week or so."

They chatted for awhile, until Robert Leland came out of Myles' room. Then the couple left to get some rest as well.

Elizabeth walked into the biohazard dressing area and gazed at Myles through the glass window. He seemed to be asleep. She quickly got into her gear and went to sit in a chair beside him. He didn't stir when she took his hand in both of hers, but the monitor readings were all right, so she turned her thoughts again to the dilemma she was facing…

**s**

**s **

_Sunday, 4 p.m._

She didn't realize she'd dozed off until a persistent beeping roused her. The sound kept rising in pitch, and she looked up to find Myles gasping a little, his eyes shut tightly. She glanced at the monitor and her heart dropped — he already had a fever of 101°, and it was climbing. Elizabeth pressed the button to alert the nurses' station, and her grandfather strode in almost immediately with another doctor.

"Here we go. Alan, turn off that blasted alarm." He drew a blood sample. There was a slight grunt as he found a vein with the needle. "Myles?" her grandfather asked.

"Still here, doc," came the reply, and she could hear the pain in his voice. "Got a headache that defies description, and it feels like it's spreading to every joint, but I'm still here."

David turned to his granddaughter. "Elizabeth, go get a basin with some ice water, and a couple of cloths. It's all we'll have to fight his fever."

She nodded, but Myles caught her hand before she got very far. "It'll be all right, love," he said. "Don't worry. I'm not leaving without a fight."

Swallowing hard, she squeezed his hand, then went to follow her grandfather's instructions.

**s**

**s **

_Friday, 5 p.m._

It had been five days of a nightmare she thought she'd never awaken from. Myles was holding his own, just barely. His fever remained at 103°F, his blood pressure kept fluctuating, and they were having a very difficult time keeping him hydrated. He had been vomiting blood, and her grandfather had finally given up taking separate blood samples and just left a needle in, clamped off, for lab work. But blood was coming out around the needle; they had to keep it well packed with gauze, which wasn't really working. Even the IV needle for the saline was bleeding out. Three transfusions had already been necessary. His liver and kidneys were failing.

There were two nurses helping, but Elizabeth, since she'd already been in with him, had resurrected all the medical knowledge she had received along with the psychology. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her a quick study for the procedures. David taught her how to handle the virus-laden material and get it ready for the incinerator, and she could re-pack the IVs quickly and efficiently.

The worst part of it, though, was that Myles stayed relatively coherent through it all. David Dillingham kept saying it was a good sign, that the virus hadn't reached the agent's brain. But it ripped out her heart every time she looked into his eyes, almost completely red with hemorrhages now, and saw the pain there. Inevitably, he'd weakly toss off a quip and tell her not to worry, but she could tell it was getting harder.

Elizabeth braced herself and walked into the room, carrying another packet of blood. Her grandfather snatched it out of her hands without comment, and immediately set it up. It was the most vivid evidence to her that they were losing the battle. She took a deep breath.

The older man checked the tubes three times. Then he leaned over the bed. "Myles? Can you hear me?"

There was a slight nod and a groan.

"I'm going to try something, if you agree. I want to put a larger dose of the serum in with this transfusion – see if it'll shock the virus into giving up. If it doesn't…I don't know what else to do. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

His eyes opened slowly, and there was another nod.

"Do you agree to this?"

Myles looked over at Elizabeth.

She reached out and gently stroked his hair, his cheek. "It's up to you, love. You've fought long enough." Tears filled her eyes, and she had to swallow before she could continue. "It's your choice."

The red-filled eyes drifted closed, and he turned back to David. "Do it," he whispered.

The virologist nodded and finished the procedure. Elizabeth pulled a cloth out of the cold-water basin and gently applied it to Myles' forehead. His eyes opened again, and she read gratitude along with the pain. "Thank you," he said weakly, "for everything."

She nodded, tears streaming down her face; she then took his hand, trying to avoid the IV needle with its blood-soaked packing. "I love you."

He smiled. "I love you, too, sweetheart." Then his eyes drifted closed again.

Fifteen minutes later, the monitor alarm went off, causing Elizabeth to jump. Her grandfather, Dr. Tauman and the two nurses were there immediately.

"Fever's spiking…105…106…"

"Blood pressure's dropping like a rock…"

David Dillingham spoke. "Elizabeth, out."

"What—?" Her heart dropped to her feet.

"I mean it. Out, now." He looked up at her. "We'll do everything we can. I promise."

She ran out, pausing at the window as she got out of her bio-gear, to watch the two doctors working on the man she loved, the man she was certain she was about to lose.

**s**

**s **

_Friday 8 p.m._

She had made two phone calls as soon as she'd come out to the nurses' station, and now the whole team waited with her, along with Myles' parents. Three hours had passed with no word. Elizabeth sat next to Tara; her friend's arm was around her shoulders, but the psychologist could barely feel it. It was as if her body were shutting down along with Myles'.

David Dillingham walked slowly out of the room. He looked very tired. He came over to where Elizabeth was sitting, and bent down on one knee in front of her. "It was a reaction to the larger dosage of the serum," he said softly. "We knew we were taking a chance, but I never expected…"

She took a deep breath, and tried to steady her voice, her eyes on the floor. "I know you tried, Grandfather. Thank you."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I never expected such a reaction before he stabilized." It took a long moment to register; then he smiled as her head snapped up. "His fever's down, blood pressure is coming back up, the bleeding is slowing…it _worked_, Elizabeth. It'll take awhile to recover fully, but he's going to be fine."

She stared at him for a moment, still not daring to hope. Then she threw her arms around her grandfather and hugged him tightly. The relief and happiness in the room were palpable; she could feel it on her skin. "Can I see him?"

He stood up, drawing her to her feet as well. "He's still pretty weak, but I can't think of any better medicine. You'll still need your bio-gear for another twenty-four hours yet, but then everything should be fine."

He turned to the rest of the group. "With the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Leland, I think it might be better if the rest of you wait until tomorrow to go in. Myles needs a lot of rest right now." Several heads nodded in understanding.

Tara squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "Some things are just meant to be, my friend."

**s**

**s **

_Sunday, 6 p.m._

She'd been very quiet the whole afternoon. Myles watched Elizabeth standing at the window, staring at the snow, much as he had at his house nearly two weeks ago. _Full circle_, he thought. But something was different this time.

When he'd seen her Friday night, during the first pain-free moments he'd had in a week, her green eyes had glowed with relief and love. They hadn't said much, just basked in each other's presence. He'd been so tired that he'd fallen asleep after only a few minutes, but she'd been holding his hand, and that sensation alone had strengthened him.

Now, however, two days later, something was settling over her like a cloud. He'd known it was coming; once the relief wore off, the aftershock was setting in.

Dimitrius had been in to see him yesterday, and had warned him about this – Donna had been through a couple of "close calls" when they'd first been married, and had actually gone to counseling a few times after the second one. Now Myles watched the lady he loved going through her own fire.

He got up from the bed very slowly, pulling on the robe she'd brought for him from home. Then he went over to her and put his arms around her from behind, burying his face in her hair. He kissed her neck, then rested his cheek on her head. "Oh," he breathed, "I've been wanting to do that for over a week."

She didn't respond, didn't move. He stepped around so he could see her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, although she made no sound.

He gently grasped her shoulders. "Sweetheart, what is it? What's wrong?" He already knew, but asking her would help her focus.

The green eyes drifted closed, and her head dropped. Her voice was low and infinitely sad. "I never knew… How could I think I understood?"

"Understood what?"

"I've had patients who were spouses of firefighters, police officers…even a few federal agents. And I had all the 'textbook' answers for them. _Now_ I understand, …and I'm not sure that 'textbook' answers are enough."

"Oh…" The implication of what she was saying squeezed his heart until it actually hurt, but he didn't say anything more, just waited for her to speak. Then he felt his legs start to give out, and he sighed. "Is it okay if we go back and sit down?"

She nodded, and he let her help him back to the bed. He leaned back and closed his eyes until the dizzy feeling went away, then reached for her hand. "Sorry. You were about to tell me something."

Elizabeth still couldn't look at him. "I don't want to do this now, so soon, but …"

He pulled her closer to sit next to him. "Sweetheart, I'm fine. You're not, though. What can I do?"

"I…I need…" She looked up at him, and he could feel her sadness. "I need…a little space right now, Myles. Please don't misunderstand. My love for you is as deep as it's ever been – maybe deeper. But it's not fair to you, if I can't resolve this, to let you think we can go any further."

She paused, searching for the right words. "I guess I need to figure out how high _my_ 'price of peace' is, because you need someone in your life who can accept the price you've chosen." Her eyes dropped again.

He nodded, marveling that her concern was _still _for him more than herself. He didn't even try to keep his voice steady as he lifted her chin up until their eyes met. "Elizabeth, I understand. And you're right — it's not something you can face once and be done with. The possibility will always be there. Will you do me a favor, though? While you're searching, talk to Donna Gans. D's been with the Bureau a little longer than I have, and they were married only about a year after he signed on. Maybe her answers will help you find yours."

"I'll do that. I promise."

He smiled gently and stroked her cheek. "You just do what you need to, get your answers, and then give me a call. Because, even after all this, I'd still like to see you again."

She blinked in surprise, then let her breath out in a laugh. "Oh, I _do_ love you. You sound a lot more hopeful than I feel right now."

Myles pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. When their lips parted, he gazed at her and she could see that he really did understand. She also saw, for a brief moment, his image of her, and his next words would help her work through the next few… however long it took.

"Because I think you're stronger than you feel right now. We'll just see what happens."


	9. Epilogue

2

**Chapter 9: Epilogue**

Myles was in the hospital for another week, then spent a second one at home. When he finally walked back into the Bullpen, he was more than ready to jump into a case, and he suffered the applause for only a minute. "Okay, okay," he said, holding up both hands and dropping back into his characteristic scowl, "can we get back to work here, please? I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready for anything they want to throw at us."

"Well, I think we can accommodate you there," Jack replied with a grin. "We're currently in the middle of trying to shut down a smuggling operation."

Myles perched himself against Tara's desk. "Fill me in."

"Now, just hold off there a minute, mate," Bobby declared. "You can't expect to just waltz in here, after pretty much coming back from the dead, and not have _some_ kind of a welcome."

The blond agent just looked at the Aussie for a minute, then shook his head as he surveyed his colleagues. "Guys, I just want to get back to work right now. Can't we do whatever you have planned, _later_?" He stretched, and let a smile play across his face. "That's a word I'm rather enjoying right now."

There was laughter all around at that, and Dimitrius came over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Almost all of it can wait till later, " he said. "But there's one part of it that I think you need right now. Come with me."

Myles raised both eyebrows, but allowed D to lead him out of the Bullpen and down the hall to a conference room. Dimitrius motioned the younger man toward it. "In there. Enjoy."

The sideways glance let D know that Myles was fully expecting something to jump out at him, but he simply said, "Okay," and turned the knob. He stepped inside hesitantly, letting the door close behind him. Then he stopped short.

On the table was a small framed piece, and a single red rose. He walked over to it and picked up the frame, reading aloud the verse written there:

_A knight is sworn to valor;_

_His heart knows only virtue;_

_His blade defends the helpless;_

_His might upholds the weak;_

_His word speaks only truth;_

_His wrath undoes the wicked._

The writing was hand-done calligraphy, and below the verse was a beautifully inked dragon. Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps behind him. He turned.

Elizabeth Dillingham stepped over to him, a brilliant smile lighting her face. "Welcome back," she said softly.

He took a step back. "Elizabeth? What are you doing here? I thought…"

She held out her hands to him. "I know. And I decided I wasn't going to keep you in suspense indefinitely. I knew you'd want to dive right back into work, so I allowed myself just two weeks to work all this out."

He took a deep breath, and drew her into his arms. The decision was hers, after all, and he was ready to accept whatever she'd chosen. "And what did you find as your answer?"

The smile softened, but didn't diminish. She put her arms around his neck, and stretched up on her toes until her lips were right next to his ear. "'Let peace begin'… with _us_. Whatever the cost."

His arms tightened around her, and he let out the breath he'd been holding. "You're sure?"

She pulled back to look into his eyes. "I'm sure. The 'Old Code' didn't necessarily apply just to the knights."

Myles smiled at her. "You're going to have to fill me in on all this knights and dragons stuff. I think I missed something. But I like the analogy – I used to imagine being a knight when I was a kid."

"Now, that doesn't surprise me at all."

He gently touched her cheek, then let his fingers tangle in her hair. He drew her closer, leaning down to touch her lips with…

"Myles! We gotta roll – we've got a lead on that smuggling ring." Bobby's voice preceded him through the doorway.

Elizabeth let go of him immediately. "Go. I'll see you later."

Myles took her face in his hands and gave her a quick, passionate kiss. "Yes," he replied with a smile, "you will." And he headed out the door.

FINIS


End file.
